The Brotherhood goons all took off, clattering away to the spot Cool B told them about to hunt for powder. The place was way out there, so some had a long haul ahead. "Cool B, if you're yanking my chain, I swear you'll regret it big time," the boss tossed out one last threat, then hustled most of his crew out the door.
Only two goons stuck around to keep watch on the three locked up in the iron box. Even with just two, Cool B and Bartley were totally stumped. First off, both guards were packing heat and loved to flash it. Second, the box door was super reinforced—no way to pop it open from the inside.
"You think they'll cut us loose once they find the goods?" Bartley whispered to Cool B.
"Not a chance," Cool B's face, already dark, somehow got even darker. "Because I totally made up that address."
"Made it up? Are you playing Russian roulette with our lives?"
"What else could I do? That damn powder's all gone—I got nothing left to hand over!"
After a bit of squabbling, the two finally cooled off. Guns outside, a killer iron box all around—the only shot they had left was... Both stared at Jack Young lying on the floor.
"Hey, man, wake up." Bartley gently slapped Jack Young's face. "Dude, we're neck-deep in trouble. Get up and bust us out with your magic kung fu!"
Outside, the two gunmen traded a few words. One turned and wandered off—probably to take a leak. The other, bored stiff, fiddled with his gun, then suddenly barked, "Hey, inside! What are you up to? Stand up straight!" Bartley's fidgeting had caught his eye.
Bartley and Cool B shot their hands up and stood ramrod straight.
The gunman pointed his weapon at Bartley’s head from afar, grinning viciously: "You’re useless anyway, you damn gay. I can take you out first and just keep your black buddy."
The excited gunman didn’t notice Jack Young, whose eyelids twitched, hidden behind the two.
Meanwhile, the thug who went out to pee turned a corner and walked along the wall. Bits of debris fell down—looks like the heavy rain really did a number on this old building. "Wouldn’t be surprised if the whole place collapsed," he muttered, whipping it out to take a leak in the dark corner. The sound of water, the feeling of relief—everything relaxed.
Just then, a figure sprang up behind him and smashed a big brick onto his head. The gunman dropped without a sound, landing right in his own puddle.
Inside the factory, the gunman was still aiming at Bartley when he noticed Bartley’s odd expression—he seemed to be holding something back, his mouth twitching.
"What’s with that constipated look? You messing with me?" the gunman snapped, and Bartley struggled even harder. The gunman grew suspicious, then spotted in the reflection of the glass that someone had come up behind him, about to strike.
Crap, he let his guard down! The gunman spun around, dodging the blow to his head but not his shoulder. With a dull thud, his shoulder took a hard hit. He grimaced in pain but tried to back away. Turns out it was Kevin—he lunged at the gunman, and in a flash, the two were wrestling. Kevin swung his fists at the guy’s face and grabbed his gun hand, slamming it to the ground.
Bang! The gun went off by accident, a bullet shooting out—but thanks to the angle, it didn’t hit anyone, just flew up into the roof. Kevin didn’t even flinch and kept fighting. But nobody noticed that the bullet made a hole in the roof. Cracks spread out from the little hole, then widened, and a few chunks fell off with a snap.
The chunks tumbled down, and one piece landed right on a big red button on the control panel.
Inside the iron box, while Bartley and Cool B were cheering Kevin on, Jack Young suddenly opened his eyes. In a flash, he sprang to his feet.
Danger—deadly danger! The kind of threat nobody’s ever seen before, crashing in from all sides like a tsunami, ready to swallow everyone! Jack Young’s face twisted with a fierce look; he reached out his right hand and yanked the confused pair aside. A flash of light sparked in his left palm, and a gun appeared. In this world ruled by Death, weapons had always been useless—until now.
He raised his hand, squeezed the trigger, and fired! Bang—a hole appeared in the glass. With his body in rough shape and no fifty-kilo iron ball on hand, this was the only way to break out. The glass wasn’t that tough—three shots would do the trick.
But invisible ripples swept in from all directions, and in an instant, Jack Young felt like his insides were on fire. A burning sensation rose up everywhere, making him dizzy, weak, and stiff.
Bang—the second shot. A deadly aura wrapped around Jack Young, and his vision went dark. The ripples were stripping away his sight and hearing.
Third shot! Jack Young tried to pull the trigger, but his finger wouldn’t respond. Dizzy and foggy-headed, he made a split-second decision: if he couldn’t shoot, he’d charge! Roaring from deep in his chest, Jack Young threw himself at the glass.
Crash! Covered in shards of glass, Jack Young broke through the cage and tumbled out, unable to land safely—he just rolled on the ground to cushion the fall. Behind him, Cool B, bleeding from every orifice, barely managed to stagger out, collapsing like a dead log.
"Bartley!" Jack Young forced his eyes open and looked back, only to see Bartley in the iron box, just one step from the exit. But that step would never come—he was frozen mid-stride, bleeding from every orifice.
Rumble—something was boiling. Suddenly, Bartley’s head swelled up—red, round, and gruesome, almost like a pumpkin.
This chapter isn’t finished yet~.~ Click next page to continue reading!
Bang! Bartley’s head exploded, steam curling off as bits flew everywhere.
"No!" Kevin roared, landing a powerful blow that finally knocked the gun out of the gunman’s hand and flipped him to the floor. But the dropped gun hit the ground, sparked, and fired a bullet. Thud—a bloody hole appeared in Cool B’s head. Red and white stuff oozed out, steaming.
"Oh my god!" Wendy and Julie rushed over, propping Jack Young up and pulling him back. Just getting close to that machine blasting microwaves made them feel awful all over—it was clear the three trapped inside the iron box had been through hell.
Femi Foster flipped the switch to cut the power, then hurried over to check on Jack Young. "This is bad—he’s in serious trouble! We need to get him to a hospital right now!"
"But how?" Julie was panicking. "We’re in the middle of nowhere, and our phones don’t work!"
"We’ll carry him if we have to!" Kevin rolled up his sleeves, ready to lift Jack Young.
"No!" Wendy pointed at Jack Young. "You can’t touch him—he’s been hit by high-powered microwaves! He’s probably half-cooked! If you touch him, you might tear his skin right off!"
"Then what do we do?"
While everyone was running around in a panic, Jack Young weakly waved his hand and whispered, "Put me... down..."
"Jack, are you okay? Hang in there!" everyone shouted.
"I... can’t hear... anything..." Jack Young gasped, struggling to speak. "Just... put me... down... I’ve got a plan..."